


the heartlines on your hand (crawling like sea over sand)

by absolutesilennce



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: (so basically just fluff), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/F, author has heard of 'heterosexuality' but has never actually experienced it, gratuitous gay pining, i would like to thank sappho and also jesus for ending my writers block, they are Oblivious Idiots but they are MY Oblivious Idiots, this is none porn with left plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutesilennce/pseuds/absolutesilennce
Summary: “Sorry, sorr– oh, it’s you.”Figures that of all the nights Tobin could’ve bumped into Christen, it’s the one where she’s been awake way too long, her hair looks like a mess in her bun, her left hand has random ink lines from her pen and she’s pretty sure she still smells like the weed from the joint she and Ashlyn smoked earlier in the day. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Christen says, a charming smile on her face and Tobin is too weak to handle this.-----in which tobin is a tattoo artist and a gay mess, christen is a florist and way too beautiful for tobin to handle, and everyone just wants them to date already.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 57
Kudos: 492





	the heartlines on your hand (crawling like sea over sand)

**Author's Note:**

> *heelys in with sunglasses and an iced coffee* sup
> 
> welp. this thing has been in the works for ages, and would've been finished months ago if i were a functional adult and procrastination wasn't a thing. anyway, have 12k words of whatever this is
> 
> if you have not come here from twitter, here is the [video edit](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_BW_lejebE/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) i made inspired by this fic 
> 
> title is from _heartlines_ by florence and the machine.

“Yo, Tobin, catch,” is the only warning Tobin gets before there’s a chocolate bar being hurled at her. She barely manages to turn in time to catch the Snickers Ashlyn had deemed appropriate to “yeet” at her, as Sonnett would so aptly put it.

“What the _fuck_ dude,” Tobin says, glaring at the laughing blonde.

“I get you shit and this is how you thank me,” Ashlyn tuts, mockingly crossing her arms and shaking her head in disappointment at Tobin, who flips her off before she messily tears open the candy bar.

“I hope you know that the only reason you’re not getting fired is that I’m super hungry and this Snickers is awesome, but you’re on thin fucking ice, Harris,” Tobin mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate, caramel, and peanuts.

“Close your mouth when you’re eating, you look like a fuckin’ slob,” Ashlyn says in response before she disappears into the backroom, probably to try and coax a makeout session from Ali while she’s on her break, ignoring Tobin sticking out her tongue at her as she passes by her.

“Sonnett, I’m taking my break, hold down the fort,” Tobin says to Emily as she quickly grabs her hoodie and throws it over her t-shirt. The blonde raises a thumbs up at Tobin, not taking her eyes off the screen of her phone.

Shaking her head, Tobin exits the shop, squinting in the light of the midday sun, and nearly bumps into a woman struggling to carry a very large wooden crate overflowing with flowers.

“Hey, here, let me help you with that,” Tobin says, grabbing the sides of the crate and pulling it into her arms. The face of the woman behind the flowers finally comes into view and whoa, Tobin’s kind of really gay and the woman is really freakin’ pretty.

“Thank you so much,” the goddess says, and gives Tobin a bright, toothy smile that makes her slightly weak in the knees.

“No– uh, no problem, any time,” Tobin says, stumbling over words, all of her usual smoothness and charm seemingly evaporating at the slightest of smiles from a pretty girl. “So, where to?”

“Oh, just here,” the woman says, rushing to open the glass door of the shop next to Tobin’s _Permanent Record_ and pointing to one of the few spots on the floor not covered in other crates, “and thanks again for this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tobin says, dusting off her hands. “I’m Tobin.”

“Christen,” the other woman replies, shaking Tobin’s hand, “nice to meet you. I feel like I have to clarify that I don’t usually dump flower crates on strangers.”

“Good to know,” Tobin laughs, “but it’s alright, I’m willing to carry countless crates if it means I get to talk to someone as beautiful as you.” What the _fuck_. What. The fuck. Who actually says cheesy shit like that in real life? Tobin’s game: nonexistent.

“Good to know,” Christen echoes, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Here, for your trouble,” she says, and bends down to grab a few flowers, handing a small bouquet of bluebells to Tobin with a shy smile. So maybe Tobin has _some_ game. Possibly. 

“Thank you,” Tobin says, raising them to her face to inhale the sweet smell. “I should probably leave you to it, it looks like you’ve got your hands full,” she says with an apologetic smile, looking around at the mess of flower pots, flowers, and the state of general disarray around the shop.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Christen asks, leaning on the doorframe as Tobin walks past her. 

“You will, I’m right next door,” Tobin replies with a grin. “See ya, Christen.”

With the bluebells grasped gently in her hand, she walks to _Permanent Record_ , a smile on her face as she walks into the tattoo parlour. Ignoring the raised eyebrow that Sonnett gives her and the outright staring from Kelley, Tobin searches for something to put the flowers in. Finally she digs out an empty bottle of beer, washes it out quickly and fills it up halfway with water, placing the bluebells into it and onto her desk.

“Well that was a short break,” Emily comments innocently. Kelley scoffs.

“Yah, no shit. Where’d the flowers come from, Heath?”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Subtle as a tank, Ms Kelley.”

“I’m not here to be subtle, I’m here to look cool and know shit. So spill, dude,” Kelley says, ignoring the snort of laughter from Emily.

Tobin shakes her head. “None of your business, O’Hara.”

“Oh come on, don’t give me that bullshit.”

“Fine,” Tobin sighs exasperatedly, “I helped out the girl next door with carrying some crates and she gave me this as thanks. And that’s all there is to it,” she says with finality, taking off her hoodie and turning around to drape it over the back of her chair, taking a seat and pointedly turning away from Kelley.

Kelley scoffs again, getting to her feet and waltzing over to Tobin’s desk, leaning her hip on it, crossing her arms and smirking.

“Bullshit. She hot?” Kelley asks, earning an eye-roll from Tobin and a shake of her head.

“God, you’re annoying. Yes, she is. Now fuck off,” Tobin says and Kelley cackles gleefully.

“You want to bang her,” she sing-songs. Ashlyn and Ali choose that moment to join them, looking thoroughly debauched.

“Who wants to bang who?” Ashlyn asks as she plops down on the couch and raises her feet to rest on the coffee table.

“Feet off the table, dude,” Tobin says and ignores the question. “And I literally _just_ met her, Kelley, we exchanged, like, three whole sentences.”

“Wow you’re so gay, you’re counting,” Kelley snickers. “Seriously, your love life is super dead, dude, this seems like the perfect opportunity to revive it.”

“I don’t need a love life, I have a like life, it suits me just fine,” Tobin says, rolling her eyes again.

Ali finally decides to take pity on Tobin, likely because Tobin can feel her cheeks getting redder and redder with each passing moment.

“Alright Kelley, lay off her, she looks like she’s about to have a stroke.”

Tobin shoots her a grateful look.

“You’re all getting fired except for Ali,” she announces, “especially you, Kelley, I’d fire you twice if I could.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me too much to get rid of me,” Kelley drawls, waving her off.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

⁂

* * *

Tobin can’t stop thinking about Christen. It’s been just over two weeks since that first (and only) encounter and everyone is starting to get sick of her pining after a girl she’s had one whole conversation with. She just can’t seem to work up the courage to go and talk to her again. They’ve exchanged numerous polite hello’s and smiles in passing, but that’s the extent of their contact.

Tobin tells herself that Christen’s busy every day just as her lunch break starts. And it’s not a lie, not really. She _has_ been busy, but it’s fairly clear that the girl is efficient. Her store has transformed from a run-down, dirty place into a pristine, colourful flower shop in just under a week, which Tobin is impressed with – she hasn’t seen anyone help her out in the days that it took her to get the shop up and running. 

She’s seen her flitting around the flowers set up in front of the store in front two neat rows, watering and organizing them just the way she likes, humming to herself and frowning adorably whenever something isn’t how she envisioned it to be. Tobin would never admit to watching her, not to anyone but herself. But if her sketchbook is filled with curly-haired silhouettes and flowers (potential tattoo ideas, she tells herself), well, that’s no one’s business but her own.

It’s another one of the late nights in _Permanent Record_ when Tobin just tells everyone she’ll close up and stays in the parlour, drawing out ideas and filling up her sketchbook. When it’s become far too dark outside and her stomach growls she finally stretches, hearing her joints crack in relief and stands up, stifling a yawn. She picks up the keys Emily’s left on the reception desk, throwing her leather jacket on and grabs her wallet and sketchbook, fully intending on continuing to work on the sick sleeve idea Ashlyn had given her.

Patting her pockets to see if she has everything, she turns the lights off and heads out, locking the parlour behind her. She’s not watching where she’s going, too focused on trying to cram her wallet into her jacket pocket when she feels a soft body colliding with her own.

“Sorry, sorr– oh, it’s you.”

Figures that of _all_ the nights Tobin could’ve bumped into Christen, it’s the one where she’s been awake way too long, her hair looks like a mess in her bun, her left hand has random ink lines from her pen and she’s pretty sure she still smells like the weed from the joint she and Ashlyn smoked earlier in the day. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Christen says, a charming smile on her face and Tobin is too weak to handle this.

“I don’t know, I kinda like it,” she replies cheekily, rubbing the back of her neck and smiling back. “What are you doing here this late, though? Doesn’t your shop close at, like, eight?” Good job, Tobin. Three complete sentences with no stuttering, except you’ve just admitted to knowing when she opens and closes her store, like a _creep_. Whatever; you win some, you lose some.

“It does, but I had to check the dates for some big orders and I realised I’d left my planner here,” Christen says, holding up the notebook in question. She looks adorable in her jean jacket and her beanie. Tobin can tell right off the bat she’s not from Portland, she’s bundled up in too many layers to be used to the chilly weather that comes with Oregon. “Besides, it’s a nice night for a walk.”

“You _walked_ here?” Tobin asks, throwing a look at her watch to see it’s well past 11PM. “Do you at least live nearby?”

“Like forty, fifty-ish minutes away on foot,” Christen says with a shrug. Tobin gapes.

“No way are you walking home at this hour, let me give you a ride,” Tobin says, and then lamely tacks on, “or call you a cab or whatever.”

“It’s alright, I couldn’t ask that of you,” Christen says, shaking her head.

“You didn’t ask, I offered, and I insist,” Tobin says, unwilling to let this go, “it’s no problem, and I would feel really bad if I just left you to walk home at night, alone.” And because she just doesn’t know when to fucking _stop_ _talking_ , she adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

Thankfully, Christen finds it funny. “That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”

She bites her lip in thought, though, and damn if that doesn’t derail Tobin’s thought process for a solid minute. It’s obvious that Christen is weighing her options, but a gust of cold wind forces her to shiver and makes her mind up for her.

“Okay, yes, a ride sounds great, thanks.”

“Awesome, hop in,” Tobin says, approaching her car and unlocking the door quickly, opening it for Christen. Thankfully, the car is not _too_ messy, barring the few unfortunate candy wrappers strewn between the seats. 

“So, where to?” Tobin asks once she’s pulled away from the curb. She fiddles with the radio, lowering the volume so that the music is background noise.

“Take a left,” Christen tells her. She’s playing with the sleeves of her jacket and smiling at Tobin, looking entirely too cute with her windswept curls and rosy cheeks. “Thanks again for this, you seem to always be around when I need help.”

“It’s no biggie,” Tobin says, shrugging her shoulders, “I’m happy to help.”

They fill the silence with casual chatter, Christen making sure to throw in a few more “thank you’s” into the conversation, much to Tobin’s amusement. Tobin focuses mostly on not making a fool out of herself and keeping her eyes on the road instead of on Christen’s backlit silhouette. Before she knows it, Christen is instructing her to pull up in front of her apartment building.

“You’re not that far from me,” Tobin notes, eyeing the building in front of her, “it’s maybe a ten-minute drive from here.”

“So we’re practically neighbours,” Christen teases, and Tobin grins.

“Exactly. I might just come knocking for a cup of sugar, you never know.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to do that, since I’m the one who just moved here?” Christen asks, eyebrow raised.

“You’re right, in fact I’m going to go and buy sugar _right now_ just to be prepared,” Tobin says and Christen laughs, her nose crinkling a little and, _boy,_ she’s so fucking beautiful. 

“Okay, I need to go now if I mean to wake up in time to open the shop tomorrow,” Christen finally says. “I know I’ve said it, like, ten times but still – thank you, you didn’t have to do this.”

Tobin shakes her head. “Again, it’s seriously no problem, I couldn’t live with myself if I’d just left you to walk home this late.”

Christen opens her mouth to reply, but yawns instead. Her eyes widen, looking mortified as she covers her mouth with her hand.

“Alright, go on, before you fall asleep on me,” Tobin says gently and Christen nods.

She takes off her seatbelt and gets out of the car, and Tobin leans over the center console to see her through the passenger side window.

“See you tomorrow,” she says and Christen offers a smile. 

“See you, Tobin.”

Tobin watches until Christen enters the building and then slowly pulls away, unable to wipe the stupid grin off her face. 

* * *

⁂

* * *

Kelley needs to shut the fuck up.

Seriously, Tobin is a pretty chill person but if she hears “you drove her home and you didn’t get her fuckin’ _number_?!” one more goddamn time she is going to flip her shit.

“Dude, will you just let it go?” Tobin whines, reluctant to admit that Kelley is completely right and she should have asked for Christen’s number.

“There’s, like, zero chance of me doing that,” Kelley says, spinning around in her desk chair. Tobin can’t wait until she gets sick, the fucking child. “You’re so fucking lame.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Tobin says, standing up and grabbing her hoodie, “I’m out. If anyone comes in for me, call me.” The last part is directed at Emily, who’s trying to stifle her sniggering and nodding. 

“You can’t escape your lameness, Heath!” Kelley crows.

“Bite me.” 

Rolling her eyes, Tobin exits the parlour. It’s colder outside than she had anticipated and she shivers, but she’ll be damned if she goes back into the parlour to face Kelley, Sonnett, and probably Ashlyn, too, if she’s done tattooing her 2 o’clock.

She takes a seat on a nearby bench, determined to stay out of the parlour for at least twenty minutes, so Kelley and her lone, hyperactive braincell can find something else to focus on. It doesn’t quite work out as planned, though, because not even five minutes pass and Tobin’s already shivering, cursing herself for neglecting to put on a t-shirt under her hoodie that morning. 

“Tobin?” 

Hearing Christen’s voice out of nowhere makes her jolt slightly on the bench. “Hi,” she says, her nose slightly runny so she sniffles, already used to the fact that she will apparently never manage to look even slightly collected in front of Christen. 

“What are you doing out here in the cold?” Christen asks, rubbing her arms quickly in an attempt to warm up.

“Uh, avoiding my friends,” Tobin replies with a sheepish smile. Christen raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, stifling her smile.

“I’m not even going to ask what that’s all about,” she says, her shoulders hunching as she curls into herself when there’s a strong rush of wind. “Whoa, what a gust,” she says with a laugh. Tobin is about to die.

“Come on,” Christen says, offering a hand, “you can hide in my shop.” 

“I’m definitely taking you up on that,” Tobin says, taking Christen’s hand and trying to ignore how clammy her own feels. She gets to her feet and trails behind the curly-haired woman into the warmth and slight humidity of the flower shop.

It’s the first time she’s been inside since she dropped the crate off for Christen, and the interior has definitely changed. Flowers cover every surface, the space bursting with colour. Some are already sorted into bouquets, some hang out in bunches. There is a flower wall behind the register, with stunning white blossoms breaking the endless green sea of the leaves. 

“That must’ve taken ages,” Tobin muses aloud, and Christen smiles. 

“The wall? It’s something new I’m trying out,” she replies and Tobin turns to look at her.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” There’s a faint smudge of dirt on her cheek that Tobin hadn’t noticed before and she has the strongest urge to reach up and wipe it off, but they’ve spoken a grand total of two times and it’s not exactly something casual acquaintances do. So she clears her throat, steps back and shoves her hands in her pockets, just in case.

“So, I don’t want to bother you while you’re working. Is there anywhere I can be out of your way for the next, like, fifteen minutes?” Tobin asks.

“Oh don’t worry, business is kind of slow today–” Christen begins to say and, as if on cue, the bell above the door jingles and a man steps into the shop. She sighs and points towards the back of the shop with an apologetic smile. The back is sectioned off with an open door and overflowing with so many plants it looks like someone had taken a chunk of some jungle and dropped it straight into the shop. 

“There’s a couch in the back, if you can find it under all the foliage.”

Tobin laughs. “I’ll do my best.” 

True to Christen’s word, there’s a tiny, old purple couch hidden away in a makeshift alcove comprised of two large bookshelves filled with various papers and unsorted flowers. She plops down on it, focusing on the murmur of voices coming from the front.

She can’t make out everything they’re saying so she focuses on her surroundings. There’s a jacket thrown over the back of the couch and a table in the corner filled with papers and half-finished bouquets. A corkboard hanging on the wall with post-its and photographs pinned to it. There’s a polaroid of Christen hugging two dogs tucked away in the corner, her smile lighting up her face, looking like a damn model. Above that, a generic calendar with several dates circled in red pen and with things scribbled under them in neat handwriting. 

It screams _organized mess_ and Tobin can appreciate that, though her messes are a lot less organized and a lot more chaotic. 

“Okay, done,” Christen says, her voice sounding closer and a moment later she pops up behind all the plants. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries. So, uh, you’ve got dogs?” Tobin asks, pointing at the polaroid. 

“Yeah, those are my babies, Morena and Khaleesi,” Christen replies, an automatic grin coming on her face at the mention of her dogs, and Tobin laughs.

“ _Game of Thrones_? Didn’t peg you for a fan.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” Christen replies with a slight smirk that’s offset by her wiggling her eyebrows like a freaking dork.

“Did you bring them with you here?” Tobin asks, trying to ignore the heart palpitations she’s getting from the entire adorable display.

“No, they’re back with my sister in LA for now, until I get the business going and settle everything here first.”

“Bummer, I was hoping to offer my dog-sitter services,” Tobin makes an ‘aw shucks’ gesture that has Christen laughing a little, and Tobin will gladly act like a complete loser if she can make her laugh like that.

“I will keep you in mind for any future dog-sitting I may need,” Christen says and Tobin shakes her fist a little in celebration. If Kelley was watching, she’d probably cover her face with her hand and groan that Tobin is a fucking nerd, but at least Christen’s laughing _with_ Tobin and not _at_ her, so what does Kelley know, anyway?

“So why are you hiding out from your friends?” Christen asks when the giggles have subsided.

“Because they’re assholes,” Tobin deadpans, mentally facepalming because she should probably not curse like a sailor around pretty girls, but Christen just laughs.

“A valid enough reason, I suppose,” she says and hooks her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans.

Tobin is just about to respond when her phone rings, and the caller ID flashing across the screen shows it’s Sonnett. With an apologetic smile, she takes the call. Sonnett keeps it short and just tells her there’s a walk-in asking for her. Tobin mumbles that she’ll be there in a minute, then turns to face Christen.

“You have to go,” Christen says before Tobin can even open her mouth, and she nods with another apologetic smile. “Give me a minute,” Christen says and walks over to the front of the shop, Tobin following behind her even though she really should head out and not keep the customers waiting. Whatever, they’ll survive for a minute more.

Christen is efficient, grabbing two odd, coral-like orange blooms and some yellow flowers that look vaguely familiar to Tobin. She deftly ties them up with a pale ribbon and hands them to Tobin, a shy curl to her lips and god, Tobin really can’t deal with a beautiful girl smiling and giving her flowers. She’s way too freaking gay for that.

“Celosia and snapdragons,” Christen explains when Tobin takes the small bouquet, their hands touching for the briefest of moments and since when is Tobin such a goddamn _loser_ that she nearly flinches at the touch of another girl’s hand?

“Thank you, they’re– they’re really beautiful. How much–” Tobin starts but the florist waves her off. 

“It’s nothing, consider it a ‘thank you’ for driving me home the other night.”

“No, come on–” Tobin starts to protest, but is once again waved off as the other girl smiles easily. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says and Tobin sighs in defeat. They’re silent for a moment, and then Tobin remembers she’s got somewhere to be and heads towards the door.

“Thanks for letting me hang out,” she says as the bell jingles above their heads and she steps out into the cold air.

“No problem, and if you ever need to hide from your friends again, feel free to pop in,” Christen replies, leaning on the doorframe. 

“I might just take you up on that, and then I’ll be around so much you’ll get sick of me,” Tobin jokingly says, eliciting another laugh from Christen. She may or may not be keeping a mental tally of every time it’s happened so far.

“I doubt that could ever happen,” Christen says with an adorable, toothy grin, and Tobin’s brain goes into overdrive, analyzing every way she could’ve possibly meant it. Before her thoughts can get away from her, she snaps herself out of it when she remembers that there’s a customer waiting for her.

“I’ll see you around, Chris,” she says and turns around, walking those torturous few feet that separate _Permanent Record_ from Christen’s shop, and tries not to read into it too much when she turns her head one more time to see that the florist is still watching her from the doorway of her shop.

* * *

⁂

* * *

Tobin is not a morning person, and it’s a well known fact within her friend group that she is not to be talked to before she’s had coffee. Unfortunately, Tobin almost always sleeps in, so it’s usually a race to not be late to work, leaving no time for coffee. Thankfully, Portland is filled to the brim with hipster coffee shops, so much so that there’s one at almost every corner, and usually, Tobin would suffer in moody silence until her break and then run to the nearest one to get her daily caffeine fix.

Lately, though, Sonnett’s taken to getting everyone’s coffee, and Tobin suspects it has more to do with the cute, blonde barista with those ‘super cute dimples’ that Sonny most _definitely_ has a crush on than genuine generosity. (Tobin had been a good friend and colleague and hadn’t teased Sonnett about it until Sonnett chose to be a little shit about Christen so now Tobin’s taking every opportunity to give her shit about this ‘Lindsey’.)

Still, this has left her with quite some time to kill during her breaks, so she usually goes to a nearby bakery that has the best pastries she’s ever tasted. Rose, the girl who works there most days, already knows what her usual is, and she has it prepared when Tobin comes in, even though the tattoo artist states the full order every day anyway.

“Could I also have a croissant?” Rose doesn’t even blink, placing the additional pastry in a separate paper bag, and rings up Tobin’s total.

“Thanks, Rose,” Tobin says after paying, and tries not to overthink it as she crosses the road and heads towards _Smell the Roses_. The bell above the door rings as always, the smell of various flowers and fresh dirt enveloping her as soon as she steps into the shop. Christen’s sitting in a wicker chair near the counter, one leg bent under her as she reads a thick book.

She looks up at the sound of the bell, a stray curl falling into her eyes at the sudden movement, and the brilliant smile that blooms (pun intended) on her face makes Tobin weak at the knees for a moment.

“Hey,” Tobin says, trying not to die at how adorable Christen looks with her oversized cream sweater and dirt-smudged jeans. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Hey, yourself,” she says, using a polaroid as a bookmarker and placing the book on the counter as she stands, “and no, it’s a slow day.”

“I, uh, thought I’d take you up on the offer from yesterday,” Tobin says, holding up the paper bag lamely. “I brought payment, too.”

“No payment necessary, though I will accept your bribe this time,” Christen says as she peeks into the bag.

“Think of it as me paying off all the flowers you’ve given me,” Tobin shrugs as she follows Christen into the back, to the hidden purple couch that is far more comfortable than the one in _Permanent Record_. 

“Those were a gift,” Christen says, mock-stern, sitting down on one end of the couch and fake glaring at Tobin. The tattoo artist shrugs and plops down on the other end, opening her own paper bag. 

There’s a stark difference in how they eat, with Tobin biting off huge chunks that make her cheeks bulge like a chipmunk’s, and Christen daintily tearing off smaller pieces of the pastry with her fingers.

“Hiding from your friends again?” Christen teases after a few bites, and Tobin rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“That, and I just did a four-hour session for a half-sleeve and I needed a break,” Tobin admits, and Christen hums in sympathy. 

“I didn’t know tattooing could take that long,” she says and Tobin smiles.

“Any larger tattoo can take between three and eight hours to complete, and they often need more than one session,” she says and tries not to laugh at the alarmed look at Christen’s face. “Don’t worry though, those are usually, like, full colour, super big tats, or sleeves, or back pieces.”

“Still, I don’t think I could handle being tattooed for eight hours,” Christen admits and Tobin nods.

“Most people can’t,” she says, taking another bite of her bagel.

“What about you?” Christen asks, pointing at Tobin’s tattoos when she gives her a questioning look. “How long did all your tattoos take?”

Tobin leans forward a bit and pulls up her hoodie sleeves. “Mine were done over the years, but most were finished in one sitting, except for this–” she points to her left forearm, covered in a symmetrical, black and white tattoo, “– and another one on my right bicep, but I’d have to take my hoodie off to show you that one.”

“No, I– uh, that’s okay,” Christen says quickly, blushing a little and Tobin grins.

It falls right off her face when Christen moves into her personal space, taking hold of her wrist gently and pulling it closer, turning her arm so that the tattoo on her forearm is facing the light. Swallowing roughly, Tobin watches as the florist lifts a hand almost unconsciously, and trails her fingers over the black lines etched on Tobin’s skin, so gently it’s barely there, and yet Tobin feels every touch like an open flame.

“What does it mean?” Christen asks as her fingertips trace one of the nightingales, entranced, and Tobin has to suppress a shiver, both from the touch and the low cadence of Christen’s voice.

“It’s– uh,” she has to clear her throat, feeling like it’s overflowing with sand, “it’s supposed to be a mirror image, sort of, like, balance? Take the good with the bad. And I’ve always felt that the Universe receives our energy and sends it back around, so we should strive to always give out good vibes, because if we see everything as negative then it _will_ be, y’know?”

“Do they all have a meaning?” Christen asks, still focused on the swirling lines, and Tobin feels like she’s about to combust, or pass out. Most likely both.

“Most of them, yeah,” Tobin says roughly, taking the opportunity to observe Christen while the florist is focused on her tattoos. There’s a tiny smattering of freckles painted across the bridge of her nose, a crinkle forming between her eyebrows as she squints, and a stray curl that Tobin has to stop herself from tucking behind Christen’s ear. A crumb lingers on the corner of her mouth, and her eyelashes are impossibly long, fluttering against her cheeks every time she blinks and Tobin– Tobin just wants to kiss her.

But then Christen looks up, gaze meeting hers, and Tobin kind of stops breathing for a moment. She can’t stop her eyes from drifting down to Christen’s mouth, soft and looking so, so kissable, and she’s leaning in before she can stop herself.

She can feel Christen’s warm breath on her face, the hand still holding Tobin’s forearm burning like hot coals touching her skin, and Tobin isn’t sure if Christen is leaning in, too, but she’ll probably die if she doesn’t kiss her right now–

–and then the _stupid_ **_fucking_ **bell above the door jingles and some guy rushes into the flower shop, looking panicked, and they jump apart, blushing like teenagers. A woman comes in a moment later, and Christen looks apologetically at Tobin.

“I should–”

“I’m gonna–”

With a nervous laugh, Tobin rubs the back of her neck and gestures for Christen to go first.

“I need to…” Christen points towards the front of the store, and Tobin nods quickly, standing up as well. “I’ll be right with you!” she says loudly to the customers. Tobin starts gathering her stuff quickly.

“Yeah, of course, let me just–” 

“Hey,” Christen interrupts, grabbing Tobin’s forearm again gently, “hold on a second, okay?”

She scans the bookshelves next to the couch, standing on her tiptoes to reach a few flowers arranged in a small bouquet. Tobin immediately starts protesting.

“Hey, no, Chris, you don’t–”

“Shush,” Christen smiles, fiddling with the flowers a little bit, and then hands it to Tobin. “Here. Freesias.”

“Please let me pay for these,” Tobin pleads, voice verging on whining, but Christen shakes her head firmly.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’, and it makes Tobin smile against her will.

“Pretty please?” She pouts for good measure, jutting out her bottom lip and Christen rolls her eyes and shakes her head, failing to hide her smile.

“See you later, Tobes,” she says in lieu of a reply, and then waves dorkily at Tobin as she exits the store. Tobin waves back, equally as dorky, which Pinoe somehow manages to see, and then promptly teases Tobin about it for the rest of her shift.

* * *

⁂

* * *

They don’t talk about the almost kiss. Tobin comes into _Smell the Roses_ the next day with coffee and another croissant, and Christen smiles that blinding smile again, and they don’t talk about it.

Their little tradition continues, usually with Tobin bringing pastries or coffee or both, and Christen smiling that stupidly adorable smile every time when she sees that it’s Tobin entering the shop. Sometimes she’s tending flowers and sometimes she’s perched on the cushion in the wicker chair, always with a different book. Sometimes there’s a customer or two in the shop already, and on those days Tobin just smiles and passes through to the back, plops down on the purple couch, and waits for Christen to finish up.

Christen is, unsurprisingly, incredibly smart, and Tobin finds it a joy to have deeper conversations about her, about art, or literature, or politics. She’s crazily passionate and has a habit of gesticulating wildly when she talks, her face so expressive Tobin sometimes thinks she could discern what she’s talking about simply by watching her facial expressions. 

She always makes Tobin take flowers with her when her break finishes. Tobin’s running out of room on her work desk and has started taking the flowers home. They’re everywhere, from her coffee table to the night table and the kitchen island, and her apartment has never smelled better. She’s sketched the yellow tulips Christen gave her after one particularly giggly break more than once, and she can’t stop smiling whenever she looks at the inconspicuous white camellias in the beer bottle on the corner of her desk. She’s tried to sketch the shy smile and the pretty blush on Christen’s face when she gave her the red ranunculus flowers, but she just can’t seem to get the line of her smile right.

She digs out an old Monop Deal deck from her coat pocket one day and gasps dramatically when Christen admits she doesn’t know how to play. Tobin immediately tries to teach her and Christen swears that she’s making up rules as they go, but she gets a little better each time. She accuses Tobin of cheating, which the tattoo artist vehemently denies, ignoring the narrow-eyed glare from the other woman. 

(She does cheat, though. She peeks at Christen’s cards when she’s with a customer, and then she lets her win anyway.)

They have these...moments, so to speak. Tobin will be in the middle of retelling a story about some dumb shit Kelley and Sonnett have gotten up to and look up to catch Christen smiling at her like she knows a secret Tobin doesn’t. When Tobin compliments her, she’ll blush prettily and duck her head, tuck the stray curl that’s perpetually escaping her bun behind her ear, and smile at the ground and god, the willpower it takes for Tobin not to just say fuck it and pull her into a kiss. 

And sometimes, Tobin could swear Christen is thinking the same thing about her.

Still, they’ve formed a nice little routine and Tobin would hate to fuck it up in any way. Christen has become a good friend, and as much as Tobin is crushing on her, she would rather not jeopardize that.

Time slips by, and before she knows it Thanksgiving has passed, and then Christmas and New Year’s Eve as well. Her and Christen exchange friendly wishes for a happy new year, and when Tobin returns to Portland in January, she gets to add ‘Christen Press looking adorable in snowfall’ to the list of reasons she’s slowly but surely falling in love with the florist.

She’s carrying Christen’s ridiculous coffee (who the hell _enjoys_ drinking it black?) in one hand and a paper bag in the other, trying not to drop anything, and barely manages to open the door with her elbow.

“Hey, Chris, a little help–” 

“Hi, what can I do for you?” a voice that is decidedly _not_ Christen’s says and Tobin jolts a little, barely managing to keep hold of the coffee cup. An intimidatingly beautiful blonde woman with piercing blue eyes and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass is standing behind the counter, and a girl who looks like she’s barely out of high school is fussing over the flowers in the corner.

“Uh, is Christen around?” Tobin asks sheepishly.

“No, she’s not in today, but I can help you out with anything you need,” the blonde says, smiling. 

“Ah, crap, no that’s alright, I came in to drop these off for her,” Tobin says, raising the bag and the cup lamely. There’s a spark of recognition in the blonde’s eyes, but before she can say anything, Tobin’s ducking out of the shop with a small smile and a wave. Feeling somewhat dazed, she walks back to _Permanent Record_ , ignoring the curious looks from Sonnett and Ashlyn and practically crashes onto her chair. She shoots off a text to Christen, places the phone on the desk and spins around in her chair, nervously biting her lips.

 **_Tobin:_ ** **_  
_** hey, everything ok? came by earlier and u weren’t in

The answer comes a few minutes later, and she almost falls out of her chair as she lunges for the phone at the chime of the notification. Kelley throws her a dirty look when she almost knocks down her ink from the adjacent desk.

“Chill out spaz, jeez.”

 **_Christen:_ ** **_  
_** Yeah, I’m alright, just a bit under the weather. Sorry if I worried you <3

 **_Tobin:_ **  
here if u need anything <3

For the next few hours, Tobin tries to keep her mind off Christen, trying not to worry too much. If the curly-haired woman needed anything from her, she would let her know. She has a few appointments; a red and black koi fish tattoo for a college girl, and a nervous guy getting his first tat - a small paper plane on the inside of his wrist. 

When she’s finally done with her shift, she puts on her jacket and beanie and exits the parlour, shivering slightly in the January cold, her breath coming out in misty puffs. As she’s rummaging through her pockets looking for the keys to her car, she throws a look at _Smell the Roses_ , more out of habit than expecting to see anyone there.

But Christen’s there, locking up the shop with the blonde woman next to her looking effortlessly beautiful, standing a little too close for Tobin’s comfort, and something ugly curls in Tobin’s stomach. She reminds herself that she and Christen aren’t dating, and she has no right to feel jealous, but it’s easier said than done when Christen and the blonde exchange smiles. She can feel her jaw clenching, feeling like her teeth are about to crack from how hard she’s grinding them. There go her fucking fillings.

The florist spots her (probably looking like a damn idiot, standing frozen and staring at them) and waves her over, that adorable smile lighting up her face. Tobin reluctantly approaches, sticking her hands into her jacket pockets and forcing a smile.

“Tobin! Hi!” Christen says and turns to the blonde. “Julie, this is Tobin. Tobes, this is Julie.”

“Ah, the infamous Tobin. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Julie says with a friendly smile, holding out a hand, and Tobin shakes it because she is an adult, goddamnit, and she will not be a dick to her crush’s girlfriend. But, _fuck_ , does she want to.

“All good, I hope,” Tobin jokes weakly, looking over at Christen, who shrugs her shoulders innocently.

“Weeeeell…” Julie drawls, throwing a look at Christen and chuckling. 

“Hey!” the florist protests, turning to glare at Julie. She throws another innocent look at Tobin. “No comment.”

Julie’s phone chimes and she winces. “Shit, I gotta go, Zach’s waiting for me. You gonna be okay?” she asks and Christen nods, giving her a small smile. “Call me tonight, babe,” she continues and hugs Christen tightly, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head before she climbs into her car and drives away.

Tobin’s never had an awkward silence when with Christen, and this just might be the first time it happens.

“So, she’s cool,” Tobin says lamely and cringes on the inside. How come her brain decides to abort mission every damn time she’s talking to Christen? Not fair.

“JJ? Yeah, I’ve known her since college,” Christen says, her smile dimming a little after Julie leaves and Tobin can’t stand it, can’t stand to see her unhappy for even a moment.

“You two make a great couple,” she forces out, voice tight, dropping her gaze to the pavement and scuffing her sneakers on the ground, avoiding eye contact with Christen. When the florist doesn’t respond, Tobin hazards a glance at her and finds her with her eyebrows raised, looking incredibly confused.

“Couple…? Who, JJ and I?” Christen asks, sounding baffled. “We’re not– she’s not– I’m single,” she finally blurts out, a blush dusting her cheeks. Tobin feels like a dumbass. “I mean, we dated in college but we– Zach’s her husband,” Christen says, and something in Tobin settles. 

“Oh, uh, sorry. I just assumed–”

“No worries, we used to get that a lot.”

There’s another awkward silence and Christen seems content with not breaking it, dutifully avoiding eye contact with Tobin, so the tattoo artist scrambles for something to say that isn’t “sorry I was a jealous dumbass”. She takes another look at Christen, noticing that the florist looks a bit paler than usual, and there’s a slightly glossy sheen to her eyes. She seems to be shivering, and though that’s nothing unusual for the Californian girl, these seem to be wracking her body almost violently, and she seems to be a bit unstable on her feet.

“You okay?” Tobin asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“I may have a tiny cold,” Christen admits, and how had Tobin not noticed that her voice sounds rough?

“A tiny cold?” Tobin asks, approaching her. Before Christen can react, Tobin places a hand on her forehead. “Jeez, you’re burning up, Chris. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Ignoring her protests, Tobin opens the door to her car and helps her in, quickly entering it herself and starting the engine.

“Seriously, Tobin, I’m fine,” Christen whines petulantly and then sneezes immediately afterwards.

“Sure, Chris, whatever you say,” Tobin answers, trying not to grin at the pout the other woman is sporting.

It’s a silent drive to Christen’s apartment aside from Christen’s occasional coughs, and minutes later Tobin is parking in front of the building. When she exits the car and walks around it to help Christen out, the florist gives her a grateful smile. Trying to ignore how hot the other woman’s skin is to the touch, Tobin walks her to the door of her building, and then simply continues up to the elevator and to her apartment, figuring Christen will stop her if she doesn’t want her there.

“Have you taken any meds?” Tobin asks once Christen has let them in, following her to the couch and trying not to gape around at the florist’s apartment. It’s not particularly big but it’s neat and, as expected, filled with flowers. There’s a blanket thrown over the back of the couch, and a half-full mug of tea on the coffee table.

“Just some Ibuprofen for my headache,” Christen replies as she practically collapses onto the couch, covering her eyes with her arm.

“Alright sit tight, I’ll make you some soup, ‘kay?” Tobin says, already moving away towards the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that, Tobes,” Christen says weakly, trying to get up. Tobin pushes gently at her shoulders to get her to stay seated.

“I know, I want to. Just relax, okay?” she says, straightening up and walking into the kitchen. She hears the muted sounds of the TV soon after, and she smiles to herself. Occasionally she raises her voice to ask Christen where something is, but other than that she works in silence. Luckily, Christen has everything she needs to make the dish. There’s few things Tobin can make in the kitchen, preferring to either get takeout or just make herself a sandwich, but tomato rice soup is something her mum insisted she know how to make before she moved out.

It’s not long before she’s pouring the soup into a bowl, digging out a spoon from the correct drawer on the third try, and trying to manoeuvre around the furniture. However, when she gets to the living room she sees that Christen’s fallen asleep, wrapped up in the blanket like a burrito and her mouth hanging open. Stifling a smile, she sits gently next to her on the couch, shaking her shoulder lightly.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she says quietly as Christen starts to stir. 

She mumbles something unintelligible, slowly opening her eyes and looking blearily at Tobin. 

“W’nna sleep,” she mutters, turning on her side and immediately falling into a coughing fit. Tobin quickly helps her sit upright, rubbing her back gently. 

“You can go right back to sleep when you eat this, okay?” Tobin bargains once the coughing has subsided, leaning over to grab the bowl of soup from the coffee table. Christen perks up a little bit at the smell, and gingerly takes it from Tobin. It doesn’t take her long to eat the whole thing and Tobin grabs the empty bowl, washing it quickly. She fills a glass with water and grabs some DayQuil from the pantry where she’d spotted it earlier, then returns to a drowsy Christen.

“Here, drink some and then you’ll conk right out,” Tobin says and sits down, intending to wait until Christen falls asleep to leave, seeing as it’s well past nine and she should really be getting home.

Christen, it seems, has other plans, because she takes the medicine and then settles down with her head in Tobin’s lap, probably too wiped to notice the cardiac arrest Tobin seems to go into at this. When it’s clear that Christen isn’t going to move, Tobin sighs and squirms a little, trying to get comfortable but not move around too much.

She tugs the blanket a little higher to cover Christen entirely, hand almost unconsciously straying to the florist’s hair. Running her fingers slowly through it, she smiles as she looks down at Christen’s sleeping form and then tries to focus on whatever movie the florist had found on TV before she’d fallen asleep.

Tobin doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes up she has a crick in her neck from where it’s resting against the back of the couch at an uncomfortable angle, and her fingers are tangled in Christen’s hair. The florist’s breathing deeply – as deeply as one can with a stuffy nose – breaths coming out in small puffs against Tobin’s knee, looking entirely too peaceful to be awoken. 

A quick look at the clock on the wall notifies Tobin that it’s just past one in the morning and she stifles a yawn, unwittingly waking Christen up. 

“Mm whuzhap?” Christen mumbles, throat sounding rougher than before from sleeping, and Tobin stifles a smile at how adorable she looks with her hair tousled.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Tobin says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Christen’s ear. The florist looks up, eyes falling on Tobin, and she smiles sleepily.

“What time’s it?” 

“A little past one. How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck ran me over,” Christen replies, a small smile on her face. “Better than before,” she admits, yawning again and rubbing her eyes. Tobin takes the opportunity to stand up and stretch, sighing in satisfaction when she hears her spine cracking.

“That’s good. I should get going, but I’ll come by before my shift tomorrow, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Christen says, standing up to walk Tobin out. 

“What is it with you and not accepting help?” Tobin asks, only half-joking. “I’m your friend, okay, and I _want_ to take care of you. Besides, _someone_ ’s got to make sure you don’t, like, fall over and die in the middle of the night. Where else would I get my flowers then?”

“Only keeping me around for my flowers, I see,” Christen jokes, thankfully breezing over the first part and not putting up a fight.

“That and your rockin’ bod’,” Tobin grins, before realizing what she just said, her eyes widening. Thankfully, Christen finds it funny judging by her amused smile, and maybe a little charming if her blush is anything to go by.

“Okay, now I really need to go,” Tobin admits after realising they’ve been standing in the doorway for several minutes. “Get some sleep, okay?”

“Will do,” Christen says, saluting fake-seriously, and she doesn’t shut the door until the elevator door closes behind Tobin.

* * *

⁂

* * *

True to her word, Tobin comes back the following day before her shift at the parlour with some chicken noodle soup, dropping in shortly to make sure Christen’s okay, happy to see her looking a little healthier than the day before.

She still looks pale and there are circles under her eyes, but at least she doesn’t look like she’ll keel over any minute.

Tobin stays in the doorway of Christen’s apartment for ten minutes, unwilling to end the conversation when she knows she won’t be seeing any more of Christen today, and ends up late for work.

* * *

⁂

* * *

Something shifts.

Tobin doesn’t know what does it, or when exactly it happens, but she’s aware that something between her and Christen shifts.

The day Christen comes back to work, finally healthy again (“tiny cold, my ass”), Tobin buys a celebratory chocolate muffin for them to share, and almost has a heart attack at the smile Christen gives her. Their breaks get even longer, if that’s possible. The goodbyes are prolonged until one or both of them has to be called away by customers or, in Tobin’s case, asshole coworkers. 

But there’s a spark in the air that wasn’t there before. It feels like they’re teetering on the edge of something, but neither of them wants to take the first step.

It’s frustrating.

Tobin is balancing a pencil on her nose while sitting in her chair, pondering on all this and wishing her shift was over already when she hears Sonnett calling her name. She has a shit-eating grin on her face and that’s immediately enough to put Tobin on edge.

“You have an appointment at 6 tomorrow,” Sonnett tells her, interlocking her fingers under her chin and leaning her head on them, the grin never leaving her face and Tobin raises an eyebrow.

“Oookay?” Tobin says, waiting for elaboration. When none comes, she squirms. “Why are you being creepy?”

“I’m not,” Sonnett denies immediately, still with the grin.

“Yes, you are. Seriously, Sonny, what is it? Is the appointment with, like, Beyoncé or something?” 

“Nope,” Sonnett says, popping the ‘p’. Seeing that this discussion is leading nowhere, Tobin just shakes her head and figures that she’ll see who it is tomorrow, anyway.

For the rest of her shift, Sonnett keeps grinning at her at odd moments like she knows something Tobin doesn’t, and then Kelley, Ashlyn, and Pinoe start doing it too and Tobin seriously needs to quit. She doesn’t know how one quits from their own tattoo parlour but she could figure out a way. 

It gets worse when she meets Christen once her shift ends, and the florist gives her that same secretive smile, of course looking infinitely better than all of Tobin’s coworkers when she does it. Tobin may be biased, but only a little.

As she’s driving Christen home, she glances furtively at the florist and groans when she notices the Smile – capital S, because it deserves its own capitalization and probably a trademark after the headache it’s given Tobin today.

“Seriously, what is it with everyone smiling at me like that today? Do I have something on my face?” Tobin whines and Christen laughs, shaking her head.

“No you don’t, and I’m not smiling like anything,” she says and Tobin huffs.

“When I find out what it is, I swear…” 

Christen laughs at her grumbling all the way home and Tobin pretends to be annoyed simply to hear her laughter.

The next day, everyone is a bit more subdued than the day before and Tobin appreciates it, scraping together every bit of focus she has as she’s tattooing so that she doesn’t look at the clock on the wall every five seconds.

She’s washing her hands in the bathroom after a session when Sonnett calls her, gleefully informing her that her 6PM is there, and Tobin rolls her eyes, shaking out the jitters she inexplicably feels. 

When she comes out of the bathroom, Sonnett is chatting with Christen at the front of the parlour and Tobin tries to see where her 6PM is.

“Hey Chris, what’s up?” Tobin says, coming over to give her a quick hug. “I’ve got an appointment now, did you need something?”

Sonnett starts outright cackling, moving to sit in the chair behind the front desk and taking out her phone, tapping away and Tobin throws her a weirded out look.

“What the fuck– sorry about her, I keep joking I should buy her a muzzle but I swear I’m gonna do it for real one of these– why are you laughing.”

Christen tries, bless her heart, she really tries not to laugh right in Tobin’s face but it’s impossible when she’s got that expression, looking like a confused puppy.

“I’m your 6PM, Tobes,” Christen says, and Tobin immediately feels the overwhelming urge to scream.

“You’re– um. What.”

Very eloquent Tobin. Three completely unrelated words, well done. Now let’s try stringing together a coherent sentence in order to attempt to salvage whatever part of Christen doesn’t see you as a total fucking idiot.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tobin finally asks, closing her mouth after gaping like a fish for several long moments. She’s not sure whether the question is directed at Sonnett or Christen, though she’s pretty sure she knows the reason Sonnett didn’t tell her. 

And true to form–

“Your _face_ !” Kelley crows from the back room, bursting out like an energized squirrel and holding up her phone where Tobin just _knows_ is either a picture, or worse, a video of the entire embarrassing ordeal. “Your fucking face! Sonny, I owe you my life.”

“I only take cash or card, ladies,” Sonnett brags, waving her phone at Tobin tauntingly, and Tobin really, _really_ hates her friends sometimes.

“It was a surprise,” Christen finally answers with a shy smile, and Tobin immediately ignores everyone else, returning it automatically, trying not to wring her hands together like a nervous high-schooler on prom night.

“Okay, uh, let’s take a seat and you can tell me what you want,” Tobin says, leading Christen to the couch and returning to her desk to grab her flash sheets and her sketchbook, giving the finger surreptitiously to Kelley and Sonny while Christen is distracted by the artwork on the walls.

“Alright, let’s start easy: do you have a general idea of what you want?” Tobin asks, and Christen nods immediately. Tobin is not surprised at all – Christen is prepared for everything, why wouldn’t she have something in mind for something so permanent?

“A few pink orchids,” she says, taking out a folded print out from her jean pocket and handing it to Tobin. “For reference,” she adds with a smile. Tobin takes it, and flips the flash sheets to the ‘Flowers’ section, handing it over to Christen and pointing to a couple ideas. Christen settles on one and hands the flash sheet to Tobin, who carefully marks it.

“Okay, where do you want it, and how big?” 

“About this big,” Christen says, holding her index fingers apart to show the size as Tobin nods, “and I was thinking my side? On my ribs?”

Tobin winces. “That’s a very sensitive area, Chris, are you sure you want to start off there?”

“Positive,” Christen says firmly. “I can take it. Besides, I know what to expect.”

“How so?”

“Well, I already have a tattoo.” Tobin balks at this. 

“You do? Where? Why didn’t you mention it?”

“It’s just a result of wild college days, it’s not exactly artwork Tobes. And as to where...that’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

Trying not to pass out from the visual, and desperately attempting not to think of just where Christen’s tattoo may be located, Tobin swallows roughly and nods.

“Okay then, do you have an idea for what you want it to look like?”

“I really like your watercolour tattoos, so I was hoping you could do something similar.”

“Alright…” Tobin trails off, trying to imagine the tattoo. “Okay, let me draw up a sketch, and I’ll be back in a few.”

Once she’s got the paper in front of her, it’s not hard to tune out everything and get in the zone, sketching out a rough outline for Christen. While she can keep her hands from shaking, her thoughts wander over and over to the florist’s tattoo and just how badly she wants to see it.

Snapping out of it, she finishes the design and takes it over to Christen, who looks in awe at the quick sketch and Tobin’s heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll take it as a yes?” she asks teasingly, and Christen nods with a smile. When Tobin turns over to make a stencil, working with quick practiced movements. Out of the corner of her eye she can see that Kelley and Ashlyn are talking with the florist and she winces internally, already imagining all the shit they’re telling Christen about her.

“Alright, all done,” Tobin says once she has the stencil, beckoning Christen over to stand in front of the mirror, “I’m gonna place the stencil and you can tell me if the placement works or not. Can you lift your shirt up, please?”

Tobin figures if she can treat this as just any other appointment, as any other customer, she just might manage to get through it without going into cardiac arrest. 

Christen nods and lifts up the edge of the shirt, tugging it up and under her breast and Tobin swallows roughly. _It’s fine, it’s cool, you’re good, it’s chill–_

She walks Christen through what she’s doing as she does it, knowing that the florist probably knows this already from getting tattooed before but it helps her snap into the professional headspace she needs as she places the stencil onto the slightly wet skin of Christen’s ribs.

“It’s perfect,” the florist says, looking at it in the mirror. She gives Tobin a soft smile and Tobin returns it automatically.

“Okay, then we can get started. Sit over there and lie back,” she instructs as she messes around with the different inks, placing a few bottles on her workstation. She opens a new needle and fits it in and then moves a chair so she can sit comfortably as she works.

Christen looks slightly nervous despite her previous comments, biting her lip and fiddling with the hem of her shirt, and Tobin grabs her hand and squeezes once in support.

“Hey, don’t worry okay? I’ll be gentle.”

“Hell yeah she will,” Kelley says, feet on the table and sitting back on the couch, watching the whole thing like it’s her favourite reality show.

“Yeah, Toby’s good with her hands,” Ashlyn adds and she and Kelley exchange high-fives, and then she yelps in pain when Ali slaps her on the back of her head.

“For the love of God–” Tobin mutters as she throws them a glare. Still, the teasing seems to break the tension a little bit, and Christen chuckles a little and relaxes.

“You good?” Tobin asks as she holds up the tattoo gun questioningly and Christen nods.

At the first touch of the needle, Christen tenses, but relaxes as Tobin gets into it. She’s the perfect customer, not wiggling too much or trying to talk excessively and Tobin appreciates it. She’s rather close to Christen, one hand on her stomach, trying to focus on not fucking anything up as she steadily tattoos the colourful ink onto Christen’s skin.

“So, why orchids?” she asks, breaking the comfortable silence that’s fallen over them, the buzzing of the tattoo gun and the music playing over the speakers having faded into background noise. Christen seems a bit surprised that she’s spoken, but she doesn’t even think about the answer.

“They were my mom’s favourite flowers.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the meaning behind that, and Tobin sighs.

“I’m sorry. When did she pass?”

“Two years ago,” Christen says, eyes on the ceiling and fingers clenching around the hem of the shirt she’s holding up above her ribs. “Cancer.”

“I’m sorry Chris,” Tobin says quietly, pausing the tattooing for a moment to give Christen’s hand a comforting squeeze, then continues. “Tell me about her?”

There’s a pause as Christen looks at the ceiling, bites her lip in thought. 

“She loved flowers,” is the first thing she says and turns her head to look at Tobin. “We had a huge garden, and she let me help her out with it when I was a kid. Of course, she spent most of her time fixing my mistakes, because six-year-old me thought she was helping by digging out everything. She was so patient, I don’t know how she put up with me,” Christen says with a shaky laugh and a bittersweet smile on her face. 

“She taught me the name of every flower we ever had, what they meant and how to tend them. And she loved orchids. We always had them in the house, in so many different pots and in so many different places. Our house was filled to the brim with flowers, and dad always joked he could leave and she wouldn’t even notice because all she needed were her flowers. In a way, I opened the flower shop to keep her close to me, that one little thing we both loved.”

“I can see that you love what you do, Chris,” Tobin says, switching the inks as she works on the top part of the tattoo. “Your mom would be proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Christen says, voice thick with emotion as she diverts her gaze back towards the ceiling, clearly trying not to cry. Tobin doesn’t ask any more questions, and Christen seems comfortable with the silence, sometimes humming along to the music. Kelley seems to have gotten the hint to move away when Christen started talking about her mom, and they’re in their own little bubble.

It’s not long before Tobin is done with the tattoo, looking at it critically, finally satisfied with the outcome. 

“Alright, you are done, Ms. Press,” Tobin says, returning Christen’s happy grin and offering a hand to help her get down from the chair. 

“Here, take a look,” she says and leads her to the mirror, and this, this is why she fucking _loves_ being a tattoo artist. The look on Christen’s face, the joy and the wide grin she has when she looks at the blooms on her ribs that look like they’re painted on her skin in watercolour. She can see Christen’s gaze flitting from one flower to another, the three blossoms standing out in pinks, greens, and drops of yellow against her skin. Tobin’s proud of her skill, but even more so of the fact that she could bring Christen’s vision to life and do it justice.

“You like it?”

“Tobin, I– this is–” Christen trails off and it’s somehow better than anything she could’ve said instead. “I love it,” she says softly, raising her fingers as if to touch it and changing her mind in the last second. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Chris,” Tobin replies, equally as softly, and then clears her throat. “Okay, let’s clean it one more time, and then I’ll put the second skin on it and walk you through the aftercare process.”

The parlour is practically empty, Kelley and Pinoe having gone home already, Ash and Ali packing their stuff and preparing to leave, and Sonnett in the back room doing inventory. With friendly smiles, Ash and Ali say goodbye and exit the parlour, heading off home, followed soon after by Sonnett and then it’s just Christen and Tobin in the front, the sound of Tobin’s voice the only thing breaking the silence as she gives instructions to Christen.

“...but don’t worry about it, you see me every day anyway, so if you have any questions just hit me up, ‘kay?” Tobin rambles as she cleans up her workstation and moves to get Christen a brochure with all this information written down.

The florist still has the same happy grin on her face, unable to wipe it off as she nods along at the instructions and takes out her wallet to pay. 

“Nope,” Tobin says, shaking her head and pushing Christen’s hand away gently, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Payback for the flowers.”

“Tobin, come on,” Christen protests, trying to make her accept the money. “You can’t just give me a tattoo for free.”

“Sure I can,” Tobin says, shrugging with a cheeky smile, “it’s my parlour. Special 100% off discount for customers whose names are Christen Press.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Christen says, but there’s a grin on her face and Tobin takes it as a success.

Later, when Tobin is driving Christen home, the florist keeps looking at her with a fond smile and soft eyes and Tobin is trying so hard to not lean over and just kiss her at every red light she stops at. When her car comes to a stop in front of Christen’s building, Tobin’s grip on the steering wheel is so hard she might be leaving handprints on it.

“Thank you for today,” Christen says finally, turning to fully look at Tobin. “I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to give me this tattoo.”

“Always, Chris,” Tobin says, “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Christen asks after a moment, grabbing her purse. Tobin nods and the florist goes for the door, then seems to change her mind at the last moment. She turns back to face Tobin, and before the tattoo artist can react, Christen is leaning over the console and placing a soft kiss on Tobin’s cheek. 

It’s just a kiss on the cheek, but Tobin might just die.

Before she can even register it’s happening, Christen pulls back, still with that _damn_ smile, and gets out of the car, waving once she’s at the door of the building. Tobin waves back automatically, still dumbfounded, and somehow manages not to crash the car on the way home.

* * *

⁂

* * *

It’s the following day that everything finally, _finally_ changes.

It starts off as usual: Tobin wakes up with barely enough time to get dressed and get to the parlour for her shift, especially after the sleepless hours she spent thinking about the Kiss™ (trademarked and everything), trying to deduce what it meant.

When it’s time for her break, Rose already has her coffee and pastries waiting, and when she pops into the flower shop, Christen’s waiting with her book like she usually is, that beautiful blinding smile lighting up her face when Tobin steps into the shop.

“How’s the tattoo?” Tobin asks later, when they’re mid-game, trying to focus on her cards and not Christen’s adorable scrunched up face.

“It’s good, though it’s only been 15 hours,” Christen teases with a grin. Tobin rolls her eyes.

“Gotta make sure I didn’t mess up and that everything’s coming along nicely,” she says and sticks her tongue out at Christen.

“Don’t worry, you did a great job,” Christen says, smile turning soft.

When her break is over, Tobin drags her feet as usual and Christen rolls her eyes fondly, grabbing the customary bouquet of flowers she always sends Tobin off with.

“Gardenias,” she explains at Tobin’s expectant look and doesn’t offer anything more. Tobin takes them with a grin, fingers brushing against Christen’s.

“Some day you’ll let me pay for all of these flowers.”

“Not likely,” Christen snorts, nose scrunching up.

It’s a comment from Sonnett that sets the whole thing in motion.

Tobin’s gazing at the gardenias she’s put in a jar with water, thoughts a million miles away when Sonnett’s snort startles her. She turns around to look at the blonde and catches her staring at the flowers incredulously. 

“How you two haven’t gotten together yet is beyond me,” Sonnett says, shaking her head. 

“Jeez, Sonny, seriously?”

“I’m just saying, if I were you I would’ve made my move like, months ago.”

“And why is that?” Tobin asks sarcastically.

“The flowers?” Sonnett says like it’s obvious, eyebrow raised.

“What about them?” Tobin asks, confusion evident in her voice, and Sonnett gapes at her.

“Seriously?” When Tobin keeps looking at her, perplexed, Sonnett turns to face her fully and looks at her incredulously. “Holy shit, you _don’t_ know. Flowers have meanings, dumbass.”

“I know that flowers have meanings, Sonnett,” Tobin says, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the blonde, “so what?”

“So don’t you think a freakin’ _florist_ would know that? And that there’s maybe a reason she gives you different flowers every day?”

Well, when you put it like that.

Tobin’s never been an expert on flowers, only knowing the basic “roses mean love” spiel, but never giving it any more thought other than what some customers have told her throughout the years as she tattooed different flowers on them. The fact that they have meanings was always in the back of her mind, and somehow she missed the most obvious thing in the entire fucking world.

Of _course_ a florist would know the different meanings. Of _course_ Christen would communicate through flowers, and of _fucking_ course Tobin would be too oblivious to realise until months later.

“I gotta go,” Tobin says, jumping from her seat and exiting the parlour, ignoring the laughter from Sonnett and the baffled look Kelley gives her when she brushes past her on her way out. 

“What’s all that about?” she hears Kelley ask Sonnett as the doors close, but she doesn’t stick around to hear Sonny’s answer, too busy crossing the distance between _Permanent Record_ and _Smell the Roses_.

The bell jingles above the door as it always does, and Christen looks up briefly from her place at the counter, giving her a quick smile as she hands over a bouquet to the man standing opposite of her.

“There you go. Pink carnations for affection, I’ve already told you about the gardenias, and some daisies to signify loyal love. Let the flowers do the talking for you.”

“Thanks,” the man says, handing over the money and leaving with a friendly smile to Tobin. The bell jingles again as he exits, and then they’re alone.

“Hey Tobes. I thought you already had your break,” Christen says, moving around the counter towards Tobin.

“I did, but I just remembered the weirdest thing,” Tobin says and Christen raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Did you know that flowers have meanings?”

A blush appears on Christen’s cheeks. 

“I did,” she confirms, fingers starting to fiddle with her various rings.

“I know you did,” Tobin says. Steps closer. “All this time...Tell me, what do bluebells mean, Chris?”

“Gratitude,” Christen replies, avoiding her gaze, nervously twisting her rings.

“What about celosia and snapdragons?” Tobin asks as she steps closer again.

Christen clears her throat. “Snapdragons signify graciousness, and celosia is– um, celosia means ‘uncomplicated affection’.”

“Freesias? Tulips?” Tobin continues, unable to stop the smile from blooming (pardon the pun) on her face, getting braver with every flower explained and with every consequent step she takes towards Christen.

“I– Freesias stand for sweetness and thoughtfulness, and yellow tulips mean ‘there’s sunshine in your smile’.”

“And camellias? Ranunculus?” 

If it was possible, Christen’s blush gets even redder, and she bites her lip as she looks down at her feet. 

“Camellias mean ‘you’re adorable’ and the ranunculus...it stands for ‘very attractive’.”

“You think I’m attractive?” Tobin asks with a cocky smirk and steps even closer, leaving barely inches between her and Christen. The florist finally looks up and into her eyes, a shy smile on her face and the blush prominent on her cheeks as she nods.

“One flower left, Chris,” Tobin says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Christen’s ear like she’s been yearning to do since she first saw her. Her eyes flit over Christen’s face, from her lips to her eyes and back. “Tell me about gardenias.”

“Gardenias– gardenias mean…” When Christen trails off and looks away, Tobin gently places a finger under Christen’s chin and lifts her head, taking the florist’s hand into her own.

“Chris, please tell me about gardenias,” she says softly, almost whispers, and Christen swallows.

“They signify ‘secret love’,” Christen finally says, meeting her gaze head on and it’s all the confirmation Tobin needs, letting out a breath and smiling softly at the other girl.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did,” Christen says, mirroring the smile and squeezing her hand, “you just didn’t know it.”

“God, I’m an idiot,” Tobin says and finally, fucking _finally_ pulls Christen into a kiss, one that she immediately returns with everything she’s got, cradling the tattoo artist’s jaw gently. Tobin, on the other hand, pulls Christen closer by the hips, pulling her flush against her and it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

“We could’ve been doing this for months,” Tobin pants onto Christen’s lips as the florist pulls her closer, fingers tangling in Tobin’s hair.

“I couldn’t have been more obvious, Tobes,” Christen teases in between kisses, and Tobin’s done talking when her mouth could be doing much more useful things.

Not knowing how or when exactly they ended up pressed against the counter but fully prepared to take advantage of the situation, Tobin reaches down and picks up Christen by her thighs. She lets out a small yelp as she’s placed on the counter and then laughs, pulling a grinning Tobin in again by the collar of her hoodie. 

Tobin can feel her smile into the kiss, barely able to contain her own stupid grin, revelling in the closeness as she gets to finally do what she’s been thinking about for months. Christen seems to be on the same wavelength, hooking her legs around Tobin’s waist and using them to pull her closer, bodies flush together with no space left between. 

“Close early tonight,” Tobin mumbles into the skin of Christen’s neck as her lips stray and mark the unblemished skin of her throat. “Let me take you on a date.”

“Shouldn’t the date go before– before the kissing?” Christen pants, hand tightening in Tobin’s hair.

“Well we can always stop,” Tobin says, moves as if to step away but Christen quickly tugs her back into a kiss that makes Tobin’s brain short-circuit.

“Don’t you dare,” the florist growls, pulling Tobin into her once again.

They make out like teenagers on the counter until they’re interrupted, as _fucking_ _always_ , by customers, but this time Tobin gives Christen a quick peck on the lips, turning around with a cheeky smile as she exits.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

**Author's Note:**

> BONUS:  
>  _food: $200  
>  data: $150  
> rent: $800  
> giving the girl i like flowers every day as a secret way of telling her i'm in love with her: $3,000  
> utilities: $150  
> someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying_
> 
> anyway if you want, you can support me on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/joofarc), or you can find me on [twitter (bisexualdagger)](https://twitter.com/bisexualdagger) and on [tumblr (jo-of-arc)](https://jo-of-arc.tumblr.com) so hmu if yall wanna yell at me to finish all my other wips or just yell at me in general. 
> 
> hope everyone is safe and well, and im vibe checking u all with love. u cannot escape


End file.
